A few paces off to the left of the rose, she could make out the blurry figures of Alex and Kingston sitting on the grass-tufted dirt.
All this time Baldie, standing behind her, hadn’t said a word.
‘They’re waiting for Marcus,’ Kate whispered over her shoulder.
‘Is that your husband over there?’
‘Yes. And our friend, Lawrence, with him. Look,’ she said, ‘I’ve got Marcus’s gun,’ and she took it out of her pocket.
‘It’s too risky, going out there,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That bloke looks like a nasty piece of work.’
‘He is. He shot Lawrence.’
The faint sound of a siren interrupted them. As they listened, it came closer.
‘Thank God,’ said Kate.
Baldie gripped her arm. ‘Wait! Looks like he’s about to do a runner. Quick, gimme the gun.’ Without thinking Kate handed it to him. The minute she did so, she knew it was a mistake.
Baldie took careful aim at Wolff, but sufficiently over his head so as not to hit him, then fired. ‘Drop the gun and stay where you are,’ he shouted over the din.
Wolff, who had already started running, stumbled, then stopped, dropping into a crouch. With his gun raised straight-arm at eye level he panned it slowly from left to right, his eyes searching for signs of sound or movement. Kate froze, knowing that a mere flinch from her or Baldie could be catastrophic.
The sirens were loud now. Kate bit the inside of her cheek, determined to remain motionless, her eyes riveted on the gunman. It would only be moments before it would all be over, but in those few nail-biting seconds she knew anything could happen. What did happen was the last thing she expected.
Out of the grey drizzle a body hurtled horizontally through the air aimed directly at the gunman. It was Alex!
The man collapsed under the jarring impetus of Alex’s perfectly executed rugby tackle. Kate closed her eyes for an instant, opening them just in time to see the man’s body twist grotesquely and smash into the planter box.
It was as if she were watching a slow motion black-and-white movie. A sickening crack followed as the bone of his forearm snapped on the sharp edge of the planter box. His pistol went spinning through the air.
Unable to break his fall, the man had plunged face-sideways into the rose.
She gasped and looked away for a moment as his scream echoed around the paddock. Turning back, she saw the man writhing on the ground, one bloody hand splayed across his face. Alex had picked himself up and now stood over the injured man, panting heavily.
‘Alex! Alex!’ she shouted, running toward him through the mist.
Turning, he staggered a dozen steps, and wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. Kate was shaking convulsively. ‘Oh, thank God, Alex. Thank God it’s over,’ she breathed in his ear.
Alex was kissing her, on her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her hair. ‘You’re safe now, darling. Nothing else matters – nothing else.’
She was about say something when Alex put two fingers gently on her closed lips.
‘Shhh,’ he murmured over the wail of the sirens.
For a short time they stayed locked together listening to doors slamming and shouting from the parking area.
She jerked her head in the direction of the man on the ground, not wanting to look at the grisly sight again. ‘Who is he, Alex?’ she asked.
‘His name’s Wolff. Ira Wolff.’
‘His men kidnapped me.’
‘We know, Kate.’
‘Marcus, the one who chased me, is up in the barn. I think I might have killed him.’
‘If you did, he bloody well deserved it. Let the police worry about him.’
‘My God! What a nightmare.’
‘It’s ended, Kate. Finally.’
He held her away from him and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. ‘Wait here, Kate, while I get that gun.’ He let her go and walked over to where Wolff ’s gun lay on the dirt, and picked it up. Going back to Kate he passed close to Wolff, who was now half sitting, propped up on his good elbow. His face was a mask of dirt and blood oozing from a latticework of deep gashes. He held a blood-streaked hand splayed over his cheek and ear. The other hand dangled uselessly from his broken arm. He looked up at Alex through venomous, blood-caked eyes. His voice was laced with hate. ‘I’m not through with you yet,’ he growled. He coughed, wincing with pain. ‘You’ll be hearing from me, you bastard.’
Alex said nothing. He just stared down, slowly shaking his head. Finally, he turned away and said quietly, ‘I doubt it. I doubt it very much.’
He walked over to Kate and took her hand in his. She put her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were pooled with tears, making white lines in the grime on her cheeks. She realized she was still trembling. Neither spoke. Her head remained buried in Alex’s shoulder until the shaking stopped. Then they kissed.
‘Is Lawrence all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes, he’s fine. He was very lucky – it’s only a flesh wound.’
‘There were two other men here.’
Alex looked around the paddock. ‘I guess they took off when Kingston was shot. Can’t say as I blame them.’
‘Who were they?’
‘One was Charlie Compton. He owns this place. The other was our friend Tanaka, the one who wrote us the letter. I’ll explain it all later, Kate.’
They walked over to Kingston. All this time he had been anchored to the ground nursing his wound, helplessly watching the horrendous spectacle that had just taken place.
Kate knelt beside him. He was still grasping his thigh. The scarf Alex had used as a bandage and Kingston’s trouser leg were both dark with blood. His face was ashen. She looked into his eyes. Despite his discomfort, they still had sparkle in them.
‘Looks a lot worse than it probably is,’ he grunted. ‘Bloody painful, though.’ He managed a smile, nodding toward the barn. ‘What the hell happened in there?’
‘An awful lot, Lawrence. But we’ve got to get you to a hospital – I think there’s an ambulance here.’
‘What about Wolff?’
‘Not too good, I’m afraid. He’s a bloody mess – but I think he’ll survive, they’re only scratches.’
‘Somehow, I don’t think so,’ Kingston said, shaking his head from side to side. ‘Alex and I have an awful lot to tell you, Kate.’
Baldie, two policemen and two ambulance attendants carrying a stretcher were walking towards them. Then a third policeman, with a hammerlock on Marcus, came into view. Marcus’s head was bloodied and he appeared to have trouble walking properly.
Kate gently patted Kingston’s arm. ‘And I’ve got quite a story to tell the two of you – believe me.’
Chapter Thirty
Shed no tears! O shed no tears!The flower will bloom another year.Weep no more! O weep no more!Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.
John Keats
‘Well, Kate, we might as well polish this off,’ said Alex, picking up the bottle of Veuve Clicquot and pouring the last of the champagne into their glasses.
It was an agreeable Sunday afternoon at The Parsonage, the sun going in and out, but enough to keep it pleasantly warm. They were relaxing in white wicker chairs on the flagstone terrace, at a round table draped with a Provençal print tablecloth. On the table, in addition to the now empty bottle of champagne and two almost empty bottles of wine, were the remains of lunch. It was a week to the day after the showdown in Sussex.
Kingston had left half an hour earlier to drive back to London. After his wound had been treated at the Victoria Hospital in Lewes, Kate and Alex had insisted – over Kingston’s thinly disguised protestations – that he come back with them and stay at The Parsonage for a few days to recover. On the drive home, Alex had to suffer the discomfort and indignity of the Alfa’s jump seat.